


Vivere, or, for him.

by readeption



Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readeption/pseuds/readeption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'In the silence of Salem’s graveyard, she heard footsteps. A cracked twig. She could not interrupt the ritual now. She prayed, in the back of her mind, to have enough time – to get it right. To bring him back.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vivere, or, for him.

Somebody whom she thought might be the jailor said, in hopeless defeat, 'Any leads?

Nobody answered. The sun set, and then the world was darkness and silhouettes. She went back to her house, just as everyone went back to theirs, and the jailor muffled some poor soul with a chloroformed cloth, and dragged them away.

Slipping inside the house, she let herself collapse, leant against the wall.

Salem darkened further. She curled up in bed until it was pitch black outside and all she could hear was the hooting of the owls in the graveyard.

The graveyard.

The tears on her cheeks dried. She drew a ragged gasp of breath, rising from the bed and peeking out of the windows.

The fresh-dug earth was undisturbed in a mound, a dark stretch protruding from an otherwise quite empty and mossy field of graves.

He had been the first to die.

She opened her front door just a crack, and saw only a few lights still on; the doctor, the medium. One house darkened as she watched, and she could not help but wonder if there had just been a murder. 

But that was not her business. She might be dead by tomorrow. She swallowed. She steeled herself.

The air was cold, the bare branches black against the night sky. Soft green vegetation supported her feet like cloud. She knelt, the moisture on her face drying with an icy ferocity, beside the fresh-dug mound. There was no gravestone yet. She did not need one.

‘Thomas Danforth,’ she said very softly, her breath a white mist. ‘ _Vivere, vivere, vivere._ Thomas Danforth. _Vivere, vivere, vivere._ ’ She closed her eyes, and placed her cold hands in the cold earth of the Investigator’s grave. ‘Thomas Danforth. _Vivere, vivere, vivere._ ’ A second passed. ‘Please.’ A second passed. ‘Please.’

In the silence of Salem’s graveyard, she heard footsteps. A cracked twig. She could not interrupt the ritual now. She prayed, in the back of her mind, to have enough time – to get it right. To bring him back.

The earth shifted. She heard a cough. Dirt fell over her hands, and her knees.

‘Heh – what –‘ came Thomas’ voice. She opened her eyes and looked at him, wide eyes focused on his face, pale and bewildered. An untamed, unconquerable sadness welled within her as she looked at him; her chest felt a tightening chill; she felt almost faint. She was terrified.

‘Go,’ she said. He scrambled out, stood up but hunched over, brushing himself down. ‘What – but, _I died_ –‘

‘I brought you back,’ she said desperately. ‘Salem needs you. I – I need – I needed you. You’re – you’re very important.’

‘Who are you?’ Thomas asked. Her face was half in shadow, but he saw it fall. There was a figure moving amongst the trees.

‘No matter,’ she said. ‘I am a Retributionist. And – there’s somebody here. You must go. You must go.’ She shoved him; his lean frame barely felt it, but he stepped backwards, barely looking at her.

‘But why –‘ he said, in confusion, and she longed for him to just _understand_ , for him to _move_ , otherwise they would both perish, and Salem would be doomed.

The footsteps quickened. Thomas saw a knife glint in the moonlight. She looked very briefly behind her at the figure, and everything moved very quickly after that.

‘I love you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I love you. Run.’

Thomas Danforth lived. The Investigator lived. He lived.

And she died.


End file.
